


maneater

by sieges



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Copious Amount of Lists, Established Relationship, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, POV Outsider, Sexual Humor, riposamu2k20, so much talk abt sex but no actual sex lol sorry, the real ship here is osamu/suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24805081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sieges/pseuds/sieges
Summary: Miya Osamu and Akaashi Keiji: victims to Miya Atsumu and Suna Rintarou's various sex escapades and dysfunctional relationship.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 33
Kudos: 380





	maneater

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iphido](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphido/gifts), [rosegoldwriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldwriting/gifts).



> ~~i have no excuse this is just one big fat mess i couldn't afford given my deadlines but did anyway~~
> 
> me: (does not have enough time to compile all of the atsusuna headcanons into one overly long and drawn out slow burn fic that the pairing deserves except the desire to at least address them in a short story remains)  
> me: just put them in a list  
> me: :0
> 
> this is 100% of what university has been like for me outside of academics … also as for osamu’s character … idk he’s atsumu’s twin and if my sibling was anything like atsumu (esp in this story context here lol) i’d go fucking insane

Things Mom Doesn’t Know About Ever Since Osamu & Atsumu Went to Tokyo and Entered University (Which They Intend For Her To Keep _Not_ Knowing):

  * The total bill for their monthly expenses that racked up out of nowhere is not because rent increased, but because Atsumu and Osamu got a Netflix subscription.
  * Atsumu is slacking off with his grades and overdoing it with his varsity and other extracurricular work.
  * It wasn’t some random homeless man who managed to sneak in the building that accidentally set off the fire alarm during the end of their first year, but Osamu because he was hammered.
  * No, the microwave didn’t get destroyed, it just conveniently disappeared and they needed to buy a new one anyway because it wasn’t working well.
  * The apartment Osamu and Atsumu moved into across their university is conveniently on the same floor as Akaashi Keiji and Suna Rintarou’s, right at the opposite end of the hall.
  * Half of the total bill she’s paying for their apartment is going to Akaashi and Suna’s apartment, just as half of the total amount she should be paying for her sons’ apartment is being covered by the expenses meant for Akaashi and Suna’s place.
  * Osamu has not been living with Atsumu for more than a year but at the other side of the hall with Akaashi instead.
  * Akaashi and Osamu are dating.
  * Reversely, Suna has been living with Atsumu instead for that same amount of time. 
  * Suna and Atsumu are . . . “dating”.
  * ~~One of her sons probably has a sex addiction. Various evidence will be thoroughly explained by anyone you ask.~~
  * ~~The other son might— _just might_ —be developing an alcohol problem. By like 40%. Various evidence will be thoroughly explained by anyone you ask. ~~



Osamu barely makes it to his floor. He swears he’s not drunk, just a little bit tipsy and really, _really_ tired, and the reason he’s two seconds away from collapsing is that he’s drained from having to take a long exam for his Marketing class. (Not the alcohol.) It was a two-hour written test plus a ten-minute recitation for extra credit. Osamu doesn’t know what exactly between the two that he bombed, but didn’t matter, because both sucked the life out of him and he told his classmates that he needed a drink. It was an hour past noon when he said that. A few minutes later, around ten people from his block found a spot tucked behind the corner store he usually frequents and poured each other vodka and gin shots until late afternoon. 

He has enough strength and basic motor skills still intact to nearly crawl his way to his door at the end of the hall. It’s unlocked, which he finds kind of weird because he and Akaashi _never_ leave it unlocked, but mistakes can happen every once in a while and Osamu is too brain-dead to bother dwelling on it. The living room and kitchen space look a bit off-kilter too, but he just attributes that to how he’s not exactly in the right frame of mind to be perceiving things. 

The memory of doing it escapes him, but he manages to make his way to the bedroom and flops down on the bed, unable to focus on anything else. Distantly, he can hear someone bustling about in the bathroom, which he guesses is Akaashi, and he supposes that it explains the unlocked door. The sheets are light yellow even though Osamu swears they were green this morning. 

Again, he pins it on Akaashi. Maybe his boyfriend wanted to do their monthly chores a little earlier than scheduled. It’s not entirely out of the blue. 

Through the closed door, he hears Akaashi calling out his name. Osamu simply lets out a loud, pained grunt. No matter how much he drinks, it’s never been enough to make him vomit, and now isn’t going to be any different, but it doesn’t eliminate the possibility of a headache that gradually morphs. On instinct, his eyes threaten to flutter shut just to cope with the incoming pain by attempting to nap. The problem is, his mind is wide awake from the alcohol and insisting that he do something besides just lie there like a corpse. 

Osamu thinks he could become a corpse. Corpses don’t feel pain and they certainly don’t try to drink themselves to death to deal with the fear of utterly failing classes because they’re, well, already dead. 

The bathroom door opens. Instinctively—because Akaashi’s face has become one of the first things he tries to look for in any given situation—he looks up, tries pushing away the ache as much as possible to get a good look at his incredibly handsome and wonderful boyfriend. The abrupt movement immediately makes him feel so dizzy to the point where he feels something, for the first time ever, bubble from his stomach and lodging itself in his throat, but that’s not what matters at the moment, because it’s _not_ Akaashi. 

Instead, Suna saunters into the room wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and something that’s too small to be boxers and practically sing-songs, “Hey, sexy—”

And really, this is where Osamu feels like he went to hell, hell froze over and consequently made every food in existence inedible, and then the Devil decided that it wasn’t enough punishment and sent him back up to what’s apparently _Atsumu and Suna’s_ unit instead of his and Akaashi’s. 

Suna stops. He stares. “You’re not Atsumu,” he eventually says. 

Osamu stares back. Mortification doesn’t even begin to cover it. His eyes need bleach, direct exposure to the glaring sun, and maybe a marshmallow pitchfork to stab his eyeballs out. It’s a reasonable sacrifice. Akaashi says that sight is the least of the five senses that are vital to functioning in society anyway, and he would know because he’s already legally blind. “Thank fuckin’ god for that.”

The thing stuck in his throat threatens to come out. Osamu lets it. He likes to think it pretty much sums up his feelings with regards to the entire situation.

* * *

A week later, Osamu’s head is plastered on the desk inside one of the classrooms of the Psychology Building like he’s trying to be one with the wood. 

“Why the fuck do ya look like that?” Gin asks, poking Osamu with the wooden pointing stick he managed to procure from the theatre department, who used it as props for their last production. 

“He’s going through withdrawal,” Akagi supplies. “Not drinkin’ for a week does that to a person whose been doin’ it for the past two years.”

“Or maybe he just witnessed somethin’ traumatizin’ recently?” Riseki offers. 

_Both_. Osamu wants to bemoan. It’s both, and he doesn’t know if it’s worrying that his friends already have preconceived answers about his situation and that they’re accurate in every right or not. It’s not 40%. It hasn’t been that for a long, long time. Osamu is thinking 60%. He misses the burn on his throat even though Akaashi told him to lay off for a while because for the first time ever, he actually vomited. (Of course, even though it was hard, Osamu listened. This is how much he loves his boyfriend and how he knows his boyfriend loves him enough to tell him to stop.) 

Instead of answering their questions, he says, “Why the fuck did ya drag me here?”

“‘Cause we’ve got an emergency and it concerns all of us.” 

“Right,” Osamu says. “So where the hell’s the rest of ‘em?”

“Due to the nature of the subject, Ojiro and Omimi offered to keep Kita distracted and so we can discuss in peace.” Osamu snorts. “Atsumu ain’t here ‘cause this is 'bout him.”

“Okay.” Osamu slowly looks up and counts the number of people in the room. Gin, Kosaku, Akagi, Riseki. It’s his and Atsumu’s shared group of friends. Atsumu once called them the _Hyogo Boys_ even though Suna’s part of their group and he’s a _Tokyo_ Boy through and through. Osamu frowns. “How ‘bout Suna?”

Gin pauses. “This concerns him too.”

His frown deepens. Before he can say anything else though, Kosaku loudly claps his hands and everyone turns towards him. He’s at the front of the board, palms laid flat out on the teacher’s table that’s been dragged to the middle. Osamu wonders exactly what he just agreed to when he went to meet up with his friends right after class instead of loitering around a bit outside Akaashi’s classroom to catch and spend a bit of time with him before the other would have to go to attend his next lecture. 

“Now that everyone’s here, let’s get this started,” Kosaku declares. “We have gathered here today to discuss and address an important matter that we’ve been turnin’ a blind eye to all this time for the sake of our friendships. Namely Suna and Atsumu.”

Osamu blinks. 

“But no more! Fuck that!” Kosaku shouts, slamming his hands on the table. It creates such a harsh sound that Osamu winces on behalf of his friend’s palms, which have probably gone red from the force of his action. Kosaku doesn’t seem to care though. “We’ve had _enough_. We ain’t gonna just sit back and continue to let evil reign over us. We deserve better than this; we, who do our part in contributin' to the improvement of the world!”

Everyone cheers. 

“What the hell are ya talkin’ ‘bout?” 

“We’re gonna break ‘em up,” Gin says. He looms over Osamu. The latter simply stares back, eyebrows raised. “And yer gonna help us.”

“No.”

“Osamu, ya gotta cooperate with us here! Yer the most important part to this plan!”

“Why? And why the fuck are we breakin’ ‘em up?”

“Because they’re a damn menace to society.”

“Ah,” Osamu says knowingly. “So what’d they do to ya this time.”

The moment the words leave his lips, everything comes spilling out like a broken dam that had been holding in the floods of water from swallowing everything up. 

“I caught ‘em humpin’ each other in the corner of the study hall,” Akagi starts. 

“Suna was late to his group presentation with Omimi-san ‘cause of Atsumu and entered the classroom with half his clothes on. And they weren’t even washed! There was a cum stain at the side of his polo!”

“He said it was milk,” Gin interjects solemnly after Kosaku’s outburst. “It was not milk. It was definitely not milk.” 

“I know Ojiro has his own stories to tell too,” inputs Akagi. 

“They borrowed my wallet sayin’ they were gonna buy drinks down at the corner store. They came back an hour later and both my money _and_ my condom were gone. They didn’t even buy the alcohol!”

“Why the fuck are ya puttin’ yer damn condom in _there_? That’s fuckin’ nasty, Gin, what the hell.”

“That’s not the point! They’re shameless and disgustin’!”

“They made me stand outside the security room to keep watch and stop anyone else from enterin’ since they were lookin’ for this specific recordin’ they didn’t want anyone else to see,” Riseki confesses. “It was probably their sex tape.”

“Ah, is this the one they did on the third-floor hallway of the org building?”

“Please don’t go into detail,” Riseki begs. 

Kosaku turns to Osamu. “See how this is becomin’ a serious problem? They’ve corrupted Riseki.”

“He wasn’t even innocent to begin with,” Osamu points out. 

“I don’t get why yer bein’ so difficult ‘bout this. If there’s anyone aware of the fact that Atsumu and Suna are a hazard to both themselves and others, it’s _you_ , Osamu. Yer the best friend _and_ the brother.” 

“Yer pushin’ those terms. Suna’s my ‘best friend’ ‘cause he’s got good dealers and ‘Tsumu’s only my twin ‘cause that bastard clung onto my leg when we first came outta the womb just to live and I wasn’t strong enough to push ‘im away.” 

Kosaku just stares at him, unwavering. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

The temptation to roll his eyes is strong, but Osamu manages. “You guys are just sick of how horny they are.”

“‘Course we are! Aren’t you? Don’t me ya never witnessed any of their outrageous sex escapades.”

Osamu opens his mouth, and then he closes it. Thinking of an answer would mean having to think of _why_ he’s choosing that answer, and he doesn’t want to think about it because he knows he isn’t going to like remembering it. But his friends clearly hate Atsumu and Suna and _clearly_ hate Osamu too if they’re forcing him to recall the things he’s buried sixty feet deep underground in a heavily locked basement where he keeps all these memories suppressed. 

And now Kosaku has just unlocked all fifteen locks Osamu implemented with just a few words. He hates him. He really, _really_ hates him. 

* * *

Q: Which answer proves Kosaku’s (and consequently, the rest of the _Hyogo Boys)_ claims correct? 

Choose one. 

Option A:

In the winter season of their second year, Osamu picks Atsumu up after his match in a stadium that’s a twenty-minute drive away from their apartment building. When he gets there, Suna is standing right beside Atsumu by the entrance even though Suna has his own swimming competition tomorrow morning and is supposed to be at home, resting. Osamu is a bit hungover, so he decides not to ask. He also decides not to ask why Atsumu goes to the backseat with Suna instead of the passenger one right beside him. 

He doesn’t even decide to ask about the wet sounds he starts to hear halfway through the trip home. Instead, he hits the brakes so hard that both Atsumu and Suna yell and one of them ends up tumbling down to the car carpet. Based on the groan, it’s Suna. Osamu tells them, _this isn’t my car. It’s Aran-kun’s, so don’t you dare get cum over his leather seats._ Atsumu and Suna acquiesce like two obedient children that just got scolded by their mom. Osamu tells himself that he is _not_ their mom, because if he was, he would never raise them to be this unhinged. He starts the car again. 

A few minutes later, and what comes instead of wet sounds are loud murmurs. It’s so quiet inside the car that the words practically bounce around the vehicle, so Osamu turns on the radio and cranks up the volume before he can hear another goddamn dirty fantasy of his brother that has something to do with a ball gag even though Osamu really, really wishes he had something like that right now just so he could get Atsumu to shut the fuck up.

Osamu doesn’t even drive them to their apartment building anymore. Instead, he brings them to Aran’s place and parks the Toyota right in front of his house, deciding to walk home as he sends off a text saying he left behind a present. He ends up ignoring the terrified texts of Aran that, when he finally checks, better rested and headache already subsided, mostly consist of variations of—

 _i can see atsumu and suna doin’ smth in my car from the window of my house_ _  
_ _osamu dammit r they havin’ sex??? did ya rlly just leave em in my car to have sex???_ _  
_ _u really did fuckFUCK ur the worst i hate u why cant u tame these two its not like theyre inhuman or some shi t_ _  
_ _okchanged my mind bc suna’s body??? why is it bendin’ like that???_ _  
_ _FUKCIN ANSWER ME OSA M U_

(Later, Osamu will defend himself by saying that he _did_ warn them and they _did_ follow the rule of no cum stains on the leather seat. Atsumu and Suna are practicing safe sex and using condoms, though they may have chucked it somewhere in Aran’s lawn instead of the large garbage bin stationed in front of his house before leaving. 

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Aran never lends him his Toyota ever again.)

Option B:

Atsumu and Osamu’s apartment, before it became Atsumu and Suna’s. During this time, at the start of summer class between their first and second year, Osamu (with the help of Akaashi, who often said lists were how he sorted out his clutter of thoughts) could catalog Atsumu and Suna’s relationship into certain points: 

(1) Associated through one (1) Miya Osamu, who viewed them as a series of many things to different aspects of his life. (Examples: consistent headache #1 and consistent headache #2, the one who supplies him with pot and the one who makes him need it in the first place, the person who he’d trust to bury a body with and the first one to report him for murder, the idiot who puts every seasoning on the planet but salt in his food and the idiot who puts nothing but salt on his plate, etc.)

(2) People who share the same group of friends (read: _Hyogo Boys_ ). The origin to how the group came to be is never talked about, but they all know it has something to do with the Atsumu going on a dating site using the only filter or common interest as birthplace and present proximity. No one knows how Suna came into the picture and Suna refuses to tell any of them. 

(3) Somewhat neighbors, as Suna lived on the opposite end of the hall with Akaashi. Atsumu would often call them, respectively, “Sunarin” and “The Guy Who Looks Like Sunarin But Better”. This was because the first time Suna met Atsumu, he called him, “Osamu If Bleach Killed His Braincells”. 

(4) “Dudes Being Bros” (read: Gay Chicken) and all the ways they do the unexpected: 

  * The Pocky Kiss Challenge that becomes The Pocky Makeout Challenge wherein they try finding the remnants of the stick inside their mouths. 
  * Sexually charged paintball fights where one is sprawled on the ground and the other is pinning them down.
  * Taking a shower together that one time when the entire apartment building went on a water shortage for a week. 
  * Shotgunning with a kind of tenderness Osamu definitely didn’t experience with Suna when _they_ were doing it. 
  * Sharing a ramen cup because they didn’t bring enough cash to buy _convenience_ store food. 



The list remains as a near-permanent thing in Osamu’s head for around two weeks. By then, he easily confirms the fact that Atsumu and Suna are fuck buddies and are the main reason he’s running out of condoms _and_ lube way faster than he’s supposed to. 

Then, on the way home on a Wednesday afternoon, he gets an abrupt phone call from Suna. 

“Can you lock the door to my unit? Akaashi isn’t coming back ‘till tomorrow,” Suna asks. 

“Sure,” Osamu says. “I thought you’d be in yer place though. With yer boyfriend.” Who Osamu still knows nothing about, but whatever. “Weren’t ya complainin’ last time ‘bout how awkward it was to bring in those special candles he likes past the reception area ‘cause the lady thought you were gonna summon a demon?”

“I’m at his right now,” Suna replies. “In his bed. Naked. Bruised. Boned—”

“God, just shuddap,” Osamu groans. “Why the hell are ya tellin’ me this?”

“Because you’re bringing up the candles.”

“Fine, fuck you.” Osamu rolls his eyes. “Hey, are you guys doin’ an open relationship thing? There’s this friend I have who kinda wants to try that—”

“Open relationship thing?” Suna asks, confused, only that’s not what makes Osamu cut off his own words. 

Instead, it’s the sound of a familiar voice coming from the other end of the phone line that’s supposed to be solely connected to Suna, saying groggily, “Talkin’ to my brother, Sunarin?”

“Yeah,” Suna answers without much thought.

“Suna,” Osamu starts slowly. 

“What?”

“Please don’t tell me that my brother is with ya right there.”

Silence. After a couple of minutes, Suna says, “Can I hang up now?”

Osamu does it for him. He enters the corner store that’s along the block, buys a bottle of vodka, and then spends around fifteen minutes just standing outside, drinking straight from the humongous thing just to try and de-stress. Suna asked him to lock the door to his unit for him because he wasn’t home even though he brought those scented candles up to _their_ building, which means they’re in Osamu’s and Atsumu’s place instead, and Suna can’t afford to leave because, _fucking hell_ , he’s probably sore or some shit and Atsumu’s too much of a bastard to actually do it for him. Suna said he was with his boyfriend right now, except he’s actually with Atsumu, which means—

Osamu looks back at the list and thoroughly corrects it. 

(4) ~~“~~ Dudes Being ~~Bros”~~ Boyfriends? (read: Gay ~~Chicken~~ ) and all the ways they do the unexpected:

  * The Pocky Kiss Challenge that becomes The Pocky Makeout Challenge wherein they try finding the remnants of the stick inside their mouths. 
  * Sexually charged paintball fights where one is sprawled on the ground and the other is pinning them down.
  * Taking a shower together that one time when the entire apartment building went on a water shortage for a week. 
  * Shotgunning with a kind of tenderness Osamu definitely didn’t experience with Suna when _they_ were doing it. 
  * Sharing a ramen cup because they didn’t bring enough cash to buy _convenience_ store food.
  * Many more moments Osamu can’t recall and doesn’t want to. 



In the end, he gives up on the list. During the near end of summer he and Akaashi are eating ice pops on the couch while Osamu mulls over the fact that he doesn’t actually know what the hell his brother _and_ his best friend are doing, a dilemma he’s been suffering through for the past two weeks. But then he sees the glisten of Akaashi’s lips as he continues to thoughtfully suck out all the flavor from his ice pop and Osamu opens a new note to write down— _a catalog of places akaashi’s lips should be around_. Osamu doesn’t even make it to the first bullet point when Akaashi fills up the rest of what he didn’t say with actions instead of words. After this, Atsumu and Osamu’s apartment becomes Atsumu and Suna’s just as Suna and Akaashi’s becomes Osamu and Akaashi’s. 

Option C:

Last week’s incident of drunkenly entering Atsumu and Suna’s apartment and almost getting seduced by Suna in shaved legs and a thong just because he and Atsumu don’t know how to _lock the goddamn door._

Option D:

All of the above and then some. 

* * *

Osamu will have to admit that despite all the shit he’s been through, Option C is the last straw. 

“Fuck this.” He practically jumps out of his chair. “Fucking _hell_ , I hate them. They're fuckin’ dogs on heat twenty-four seven. They put shame to all couples by simply existin’ ’cause they’re more animal instincts than common sense. They’re destroyin’ my _life_.”

The look on his friends’ faces are beyond delighted, and Osamu doesn’t have enough kindness in his body to feel sorry about the way he causes them to immediately drop by adding, “But ya can’t break ‘Tsumu and Suna up.”

“Why?” Kosaku demands, before an expression of horror crosses over his face. “Oh my god, Osamu, don’t tell me ya actually _care_ ‘bout them.”

“Fuck no. But y’know that thing when dogs mate—they stay conjoined for a few hours and yer not s’pposed to separate ‘em unless ya want a nasty bite that’ll probably give ya rabies? That’s basically what this is.”

“No, it’s not,” Riseki denies feebly. 

“Third floor. Hallway. Org building,” Gin whispers into his ear. “Sweat stains. White walls.” 

Riseki squeaks. “I take it back.”

“Gin, please stop freakin' Riseki out,” Akagi scolds mildly. 

“We’ll find a way,” Kosaku insists, turning back to Osamu. “Just agree that you’ll help us, ‘cause we won’t be able to do this without ya. Yer the key to this operation. Yer our only chance of success.”

“Y’know, if ya told me this during beer pong during last year’s winter bash, I would’ve actually believed ya,” Osamu admits. “But the thing is, some wounds never heal.”

The bell suddenly rings, signaling the end of yet another hour and another class. Akaashi should be done for the day then. “Anyways,” Osamu pipes, his interest in the conversation already non-existent because he really just wants to go. He stands up and slings his bag over his shoulder. “Nice talk. Let’s not do this again.”

“We’ll text you the details! But not anytime soon! Since it’s Finals Week!” Kosaku yells as he makes his way to the door. Osamu leaves with a finger raised up in acknowledgement, but whether it’s a thumbs up or a middle finger, he’ll leave it to their interpretation. 

* * *

“Welcome home,” Akaashi greets, as Osamu enters their unit after going on a quick grocery run while Akaashi washed their plates, dinner finished long ago. The younger pushes a mug of coffee towards Osamu. 

“Thanks.” He takes the drink as he sits down on the bar stool, setting the plastic bags down. It’s still steaming hot, but he takes a long sip from it anyway. Akaashi wrinkles his nose because Osamu doesn’t even flinch at the burning sensation on his tongue. 

He leans back on the countertop, arms crossed over as he stands across Osamu. Akaashi is easily taller than him like this. Osamu stares appreciatively at the fact that his boyfriend’s sleeves have been rolled up so they wouldn’t have gotten wet during dishwashing, revealing his nicely toned biceps. They’ve been hitting the gym twice a month ever since last school year and they’ve yet to regret it. “So, are you really going to do it?”

Osamu told Akaashi the entire rundown of events that happened earlier today. “Hell no.”

“So you lied to all your friends.”

Osamu pouts. “Don’t judge me when I know you’ve been lyin’ ‘bout the fact that Bokuto’s fish died ‘cause ya actually flushed it down the toilet and instead said it somehow got set on fire and turned to ashes.”

“Please don’t bring that up,” Akaashi says, cheeks flushed. Osamu can’t help but laugh, and Akaashi’s embarrassment disappears in lieu of a fonder expression, leaning forward to run a hand through Osamu’s hair. “I can tell that you’re still going to do something.”

“Oh, definitely,” Osamu murmurs. “There’s no way they’re gonna break up just ‘cause we tell ‘em we want ‘em to or ‘cause of whatever plan Kosaku’s got up his sleeve.”

“Because they’re that in love?”

“‘Cause they’d continue to date just to spite us,” Osamu corrects. “I’m thinkin’ of a more subtle approach.”

“Subtle?”

“Guilt trippin’,” Osamu explains. “If we make ‘em feel bad ‘bout being a bunch of horny rabbits, then maybe they’ll start actin’ like a better, actually acceptable couple by society’s standards.” This is, after all, the real reason why their friends want them broken up—they all fear for their lives and Riseki’s deteriorating sanity should Atsumu and Suna continue being left to their own devices. “They need to be shown an ideal example of what a couple should be.” 

“Okay,” Akaashi says slowly. “And what exactly is an ideal couple?”

“The two of us.” Osamu grins wolfishly. It only makes sense that he and Akaashi take on this burden because they’re a _great_ couple, and to Osamu, this is definitely why his friends want him, of all people, to be the one to deal with it. He and Akaashi wouldn’t even have to try because all they’d have to do is act like they usually do. 

Akaashi blinks at him, and then makes a funny-looking smile. “That’s sweet, but I didn’t know you cared about conforming to society’s standards.”

“I don’t,” Osamu replies easily. It’s more for the sake of society’s _peace of mind_ , because Atsumu and Suna need to learn how to stop trying to hump each other every two seconds. “Anyways, I got all the stuff ya asked me to buy from the grocery and then some.”

“And then some?”

Instead of answering, Osamu takes out a cold can of espresso and hands it to Akaashi. The latter’s eyes widen in pleasant surprise. It’s his favorite brand, but he doesn’t purchase it often because it's popular and stores usually run out of stock. Osamu got lucky this time around. There was one left. “Yer stayin’ up late tonight to finish a paper, right?”

“Yeah,” Akaashi replies. “Thanks.” He twists the can open. “Do you really think Atsumu and Suna aren’t in love?”

Osamu takes another sip from his mug. “I never said that.”

“No, but you’re implying something similar to it.”

“I never said they ain’t in love,” Osamu clarifies. “It’s just—the two of ‘em fool around a lot with other people and it’s never meant anythin’ before, so what makes this any different? It’s kinda like there’s more... sex than actual love between ‘em.” 

“And you don’t like that,” Akaashi interjects. “Not necessarily because they keep on being shameless about their... activities, but because they’re important to you, and you don’t know if they really love each other.”

If this were anyone else, he’d deny the fact that he cares about Atsumu and Suna, but this is Akaashi, so he doesn’t. “They never outright said they were boyfriends before, y’know. It’s always just been implied and people never bothered to ask,” Osamu doesn’t even think he’s ever seen them hold hands. Then, in a quieter voice, “‘Tsumu and I are different people, sure, but we’re twins too, and we’ve always had the same things. Is it bad that I want that bastard to have the same kinda love I got blessed with? And Suna too, ‘cause he’s the reason I met ya.”

This is, after all, how Osamu defines love. The gentle touch of a hand. A coffee mug silently pushed to him without prompting whatsoever. Searching for just a few minutes of free time between busy schedules to see the person you love. Thinking of him at the grocery store. He’s not about the uncontrollably wild rush of the romance that has drastic ups and downs, but more about coming down from the high and entering into something much steadier and long-lasting. The impact a rollercoaster makes on a person is what lasts longer than the ride in itself, and Osamu is someone living off on the aftermath and the effect it’s made on him, the kind of thing that won’t disappear so easily. 

The scary thing about Atsumu and Suna’s relationship, to Osamu, is that it’s defined by the ride without care for the fact that it’ll end soon. The crash is going to be horrible, and Osamu doesn’t want them to go through that.

“You’re a sap,” Akaashi notes. It takes Osamu a second to realize what exactly the other is referring to. 

He raises an eyebrow. “Insultin’ me, are ya? I’ll have ya know these arms ain’t just for show.”

“I am _very_ aware of that,” Akaashi says pointedly. Something in Osamu softens. “It’s good they have someone like you in their lives.”

Osamu doesn’t expect the words, so he shrugs, suddenly feeling timid. “‘S not a big deal.”

Akaashi smiles, sensing the sudden shift in Osamu’s mood. “How exactly do you plan on going about it anyway?” 

“I’ll think of somethin’,” Osamu replies. He lifts up a hand and Akaashi doesn’t hesitate to do the same with his own so their fingers can interlock. “But it can’t be a one-time, big-time thing. It’s gotta be slow and steady.”

“Like the ‘ideal’ couple?” Akaashi inquires. 

“Exactly.”

* * *

Q: Which scenario successfully manages to change one (1) Miya Atsumu and one (1) Suna Rintarou into better members of society with the help of one (1) Miya Osamu and one (1) Akaashi Keiji?

Choose one. 

Scenario A:

After spending the entire morning in the gym, Akaashi and Osamu invite Suna and Atsumu over to go on their biweekly grocery runs. Akaashi doesn’t really understand the need to exemplify an “ideal” couple to the two of them through _grocery shopping_ and how that would work in the first place, but Osamu insists to wait until Atsumu and Suna get there. 

They meet Akaashi and Osamu as the latter two are starting their errand by the baking goods aisle. The first thing Osamu says when he sees them is, “Why the hell is Suna inside the grocery cart?”

“Why not?” Atsumu asks, just as Suna says, “Because ‘Tsumu’s fat ass can’t fit in here.”

“I didn’t know that was allowed,” Akaashi comments. 

An employee who is in the aisle with them, sorting out the flour, interjects lifelessly, “Better than them playing bumper car with the carts.”

“Why haven’t they been kicked out yet?” Osamu asks.

She shrugs. “The manager finds them hot.”

Of course they do. Akaashi stifles a laugh, but Osamu almost mistakes it as a pained, strangled sound, because that’s what he currently feels. 

It’s not that bad, Osamu thinks later on, the fact that Suna is sitting in with all the stuff he and Atsumu are buying like he’s one of the objects for purchase. Atsumu and Suna trail after Osamu and Akaashi because they’re supposed to do the shopping _together_ and repeatedly bicker about every little object they purchase until they see the silent way Osamu and Akaashi are getting everything because they already know what they need and what brands they like and don’t need words to show it. Because Atsumu and Suna still can’t agree but clearly want to mimic the flawless way the other pair is doing to some extent, they solve everything through rock-paper-scissors. 

“See?” Osamu whispers to Akaashi, by the time they’re in the middle aisle of the entire grocery. He watches from the corner of his eye as Atsumu, who apparently won this round, inspects which brand of milk to buy while Suna sneakily gets a pudding cup from the bottom shelf. He’s still inside the cart. Osamu has no idea how it hasn’t caved in from all the weight. “It’s workin’.”

Akaashi’s only reply to that is, “I think they’re going to regret half of what they’re buying if they keep on deciding like that.”

Osamu shrugs. He doesn’t even think half of what they’re buying is going to make it out of the store. The only things he’s ever seen a decent amount of in Atsumu and Suna’s place are condiments and healthy juices. They probably only have that much stuff in their cart because they want to copy Osamu and Akaashi’s example, but that’s okay, because that’s kind of why they’re doing this in the first place. “‘S fine. At least they ain’t tearin’ open condoms they haven’t bought yet.”

“They’re not that terrible,” Akaashi says. 

“Don’t jinx it.”

Akaashi does, in fact, jinx it. It takes them ten minutes before they realize the other two have stopped following him because Suna apparently convinced Atsumu to run around the entire store while pushing the cart with him still inside to serve as some kind of mock-workout. Of course, Atsumu does it. Of course, lots of people see two buff university kids zooming past them and maybe nearly running them over. Ten seconds later, and Akaashi and Osamu find them by the meat aisle, _making out_. Atsumu is sweaty and panting heavily into Suna’s mouth like he’s trying to suck out all the oxygen out of him. Suna is _still_ inside the cart.

“Are ya fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Osamu hisses. “Why the fuck did that lead to _this_?”

The sales lady, who is trying to promote the store’s newest brand of pork loin, unfortunately forced to stand right beside Atsumu and Suna since her stall is right beside them, says with nothing but indignation in her voice, “This is _not_ what our ‘ _beat that meat’_ slogan means!”

(Unbelievably, they don’t get banned from the grocery store because the manager _still_ finds them hot. Osamu ends up buying a six-pack beer before they reach the cashier counter to pay for everything. Akaashi not only lets him, but he actually gets a can for himself the moment they’re out of the store to drink with him.)

Scenario B:

Two days before Akaashi and Osamu’s anniversary, Atsumu approaches him and tells him that they should celebrate their anniversaries together, because the time Akaashi and Osamu got together is around the same time Atsumu and Suna did as well. 

“No,” Osamu says, neither believing his claim nor intending to celebrate an occasion he’s looking forward to with the two people who are most likely going to _ruin_ it. 

“Fuck you. Ya owe me.”

“For what?” 

“For vomittin’ on my and Sunarin’s fuckin’ carpet!”

“I was drunk and both our apartments have the same damn interior!” Osamu defends. “And that was yer fault for not lockin’ the door so I wouldn’t think to enter!”

“Sunarin wanted to surprise me!”

“The fuck does that have’ta do with lockin’ the door, huh? Is this some fuckin’ threesome or exhibitionist scheme? Oh my god, ‘Tsumu, you’ve hit rock bottom. You’ll make Mom cry.”

“‘Samu, don’t ya dare tell her _anythin'_ if ya don’t want her to find out that half of yer allowance has been goin’ to alcohol!”

Osamu relents in the end because there’s an opportunity present in Atsumu’s annoying request, and offers instead that they cook their anniversary dinners together. “No, not eat together,” He tells Atsumu. “This is s’pposed to be a good day for me and Keiji. Not a damn day where I gotta tolerate more of yer twisted ass.” 

Atsumu’s only reply to that is, “Fuck you. It’s a great ass. You can ask Sunarin that.”

Osamu just slams the door shut right in front of Atsumu’s face in response. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s agreed to the fact that he invited Atsumu and Suna over to what might just be either an absolute disaster disguised as a good idea or a good idea disguised as an absolute disaster. 

“Why didn’t we agree to cook over at their apartment?” Akaashi asks, an hour before Atsumu and Suna are supposed to come over. “Our place hasn’t been the cleanest nowadays.”

“Trust me, this is very clean,” Osamu reassures him. “Also, the last time we came over—” It was months ago and it was definitely not for a meal because Suna and Atsumu live off on two things: takeout food that has seen better days and _Osamu and Akaashi’s_ leftovers. (Until now, Osamu doesn’t know how they manage to get them when he and Akaashi actually _do_ lock the door to their unit.) Instead, it was to eat the weed brownies Suna and Atsumu made together, which only turned out well because Suna provided the pot and Atsumu bought a brownie _mix_. “—we stepped on wet underwear and there were toy guns buried under the cushion of their couch.”

“Ah,” Akaashi says. “I remember now.”

There’s a certain romance to cooking with someone you love and treating them to a quality meal you made instead of something that you bought and just promotes bad eating habits. The more he thinks about it, the more he believes that this is a good idea. When Atsumu and Suna come over with their own ingredients to work on a _tonkatsu_ and _tempura_ —probably because those were the only decent things in their pantry they could find—Osamu still thinks, _this is fine. This is a good idea._

Osamu and Akaashi make _onigiri_ and _gyudon_ , a simple tribute to the two things they had on their first date. Their shoulders brush against one another and Akaashi hums a soft tune under his breath while he molds the rice. When they have to cut the beef, Osamu ends up struggling because his hands have gone sticky from making most of the _onigiri_ , so Akaashi reaches over and wraps his hand around Osamu’s to help him slice the meat. For a moment, Osamu actually forgets that they’re supposed to be proving something to Atsumu and Suna, who are animatedly discussing something about their way of doing things that’s vaguely starting to sound like a impending argument, but when he looks at Akaashi’s face and the concentrated face he makes, it’s clear that those two are the furthest thing from his mind. 

Osamu indulges in the warmth of Akaashi’s hands enveloping his own and lets Akaashi help him cut even though they don’t need to. He presses his back against the younger’s chest and thinks about how he likes the way they fit. It’s a good anniversary even though they haven’t really done anything but stay at home and do what they usually do—catching up on a TV show, going on an emergency grocery run to buy a bit more ingredients for dinner, lazing around on the bed, listening to music by the countertops until they had company. 

“I’m happy,” Osamu suddenly says. 

“What?”

“I’m happy,” Osamu repeats. He can hear Atsumu needling Suna about something from what feels like a considerable distance even if he’s just right behind them. “I hate ‘Tsumu, but I want him to be happy too.”

Akaashi is quiet for a bit. Then, he says, “I think he’ll catch you off guard.”

Osamu is about to ask what he means by that until he hears a loud clang and a shrill, "' _Samuuuuu._ " 

“Keiji,” Osamu whispers to Akaashi. “I’ll kill ‘em.”

“Please don’t,” Akaashi says, pulling away. 

Osamu sighs before turning to Atsumu. “ _What?_ ”

“Ya gotta kick him out,” Atsumu says, pointing accusingly to Suna. “He’s puttin’ his hands on the wrong thing!”

It takes Osamu a beat for him to understand that Atsumu is referring to how there are traces of panko breadcrumbs on the backside of his pants and how Suna’s hands are covered in them from coating the meat. 

Suna raises an eyebrow at Atsumu. “That’s not what you said last night.”

Ignoring his brother’s retort—he doesn’t want to know—Osamu glances at the plate where they’re supposed to put their almost finished food, only to see that they’ve barely made it through half of their supply of the first meal. At the rate they’re going, they’re going to be in here forever. 

“If ya both _don’t_ quit it, I’ll kick both of yer asses out,” threatens Osamu. 

Suna shrugs. “Sure. Food play ain’t my thing anyway.”

“Wait, seriously?” Atsumu asks in disbelief. “What the fuck, Sunarin, why didn’t ya tell me that before I bought the _tempura_?”

Akaashi accidentally knocks over the salt shaker he’s trying to grab. Osamu looks to the pantry and wonders if Akaashi will let him pour a shot of gin even though special boyfriend occasions are supposed to be his sober days. 

Osamu ends up helping them with _tonkatsu_ —not the _tempura_ , which he doesn’t touch and strictly instructs them to not let it go near _any_ part of their body—if only so that they can cook quicker and so Atsumu and Suna can get the fuck out as soon as possible. By time the only thing they have to do is fry, Akaashi is done with their own respective dishes, and Osamu tries not to sulk about the fact that he wasn’t able to cook with his boyfriend when they both know it’s one of his favorite things to do when they celebrate something together. 

“It’s not like we can’t do this outside of occasions like these,” Akaashi reminds him, as if he read Osamu’s mind. 

“I know, but still.”

Akaashi smiles, amused with the vague response. “It’ll be worth it,” He says, resting his hand gently on top of Osamu’s. He nods towards Atsumu and Suna, who are huddled together, watching the _tonkatsu_ fry intently. They’re shoving each other and Osamu thinks they’re fighting with the tongs. He looks away so he won’t get irrationally worked up over seeing them. It’s moments like these that he’s glad that he’s considerably matured and doesn’t partake in that sort of childishness anymore. 

“Maybe,” Osamu allows, and he leans to kiss the back of Akaashi’s hand. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d go.”

It’s not. But the morning after, Osamu catches Atsumu carrying his garbage outside even though he knows that Atsumu and Suna take out their trash on Tuesdays, not Sundays. When Osamu asks about how dinner went for them, Atsumu says, “It was better than I thought. _Really_ filling.”

“Huh,” Osamu says. “At least yer sorry ass now knows how to make good _tonkatsu_.”

“Oh, we didn’t eat the _tonkatsu_. It’s in here.” He lifts the plastic bag and opens the garbage chute. “It fell from the dinin’ table.”

Osamu’s brows knit together in confusion. “It fell from the dining table? So what the hell d’ya eat—oh, for fuck’s sake, ‘Tsumu. You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.” Atsumu just smirks. “I thought Suna didn’t like foodplay.”

“Oh?” Atsumu raises an eyebrow. “Suddenly listenin’ in on my sex conversations, ‘Samu? Since when were ya a voyeur?”

“How the fuck can I be a voyeur if even the damn old lady who lives right next door to _me_ knows about _yer_ stupid kinks!”

“Yer just jealous that you and ‘Kaashi just have vanilla sex once in two months while Sunarin and I are gettin’ it on every—”

“‘Tsumu, _no one_ wants to see ya do that with yer hips.”

“Aw, shit, ‘Samu, did I accidentally hit a mark with the fact that yer gettin’ blue balled by yer lovely boyfriend?”

Suna and Akaashi find the twins an hour later, right in the middle of the hallway and causing a commotion because Atsumu won’t let Osamu shove him down the chute without putting up a fight.

(Before they pull Atsumu and Osamu away from each other, Suna says that they should watch the fight drag on for a little longer and takes out his phone to record it. Akaashi takes a long look at Suna’s disheveled state—a jersey that’s seen better days and bright red shorts that hangs loosely on his hips—before he says, “Isn’t that Atsumu’s?”

“The shorts too,” Suna replies easily. “It’s baggy on me since he’s got a big ass, but it’s pretty comfy. It’s nice.”

Akaashi stares at him for a few more seconds, slowly growing to realize something. “I suppose it is,” he eventually says.)

Scenario C:

There’s a newly opened amusement park that everyone but Osamu wants to check out. He only ends up going because Akaashi likes it, and going as a group of four gets a discount, so Atsumu and Suna end up tagging along. Osamu goes with the three of them to line up in excruciatingly long queues for around five rides before his legs give in and he tells them to go ahead while he waits in the food court because it’s admittedly the only thing he likes about places like these. Akaashi doesn’t go with them even though he clearly wants to try out more rides because he says he’s not going to leave his boyfriend behind. Atsumu and Suna, who are halfway in a heated argument about which ride to go on next that is slowly veering towards the huge possibility of an angry public make out session (again), cease the fight to accompany them and venture off together to go find food. 

“Thanks for stoppin’ ‘em from nearly havin’ sex on this table,” Osamu tells Akaashi. 

Akaashi sighs. “Would it make me a bad ex-roommate if I said Suna was never like this back when we still lived together?”

“Like what? Horny?”

“No, he was always horny,” Akaashi quickly says. “Aggressive is the closest word I have for it. Awfully energetic?”

“Well, that’s what being horny does to ya,” Osamu replies, resting his cheek on his palm. “Actually, that’s probably what being horny with ‘Tsumu does to ya.”

Akaashi bites his lip. “Osamu, about Atsumu and Suna—”

He doesn’t get to finish what he’s saying because Atsumu and Suna suddenly appear before them, holding trays of greasy food. Though Akaashi and Osamu easily split their share of the food while Atsumu and Suna squabble over it and maybe quip inappropriate comments every few minutes, the latter pair doesn’t do anything more than elbow bumps and certain looks traded between them that speak of a convoluted language only they understand.

As far as Osamu is concerned, he has no intent on learning it. 

“Maybe this time—” Osamu quietly says to Akaashi. 

“Atsumu’s hand is under the table and Suna is squirming,” Akaashi interrupts. Osamu tries not to rub his temple in resignation and gazes around the food court even though he knows they don’t sell alcoholic beverages around here. 

When they finally stand up to put away the trash and trays though, Atsumu’s hand had only been on Suna’s thigh, and the look on the blonde’s face doesn’t say he’s up to anything mischievous. Suna, unfortunately, has a prominent bulge in his pants, and he quickly wraps his jacket around his waist to make it less obvious. 

“Wow,” Osamu tells Suna. “Is this yer way of sayin’ ya still got dignity even after everythin’ you’ve been doin’ with ‘Tsumu?”

Suna gives him a dirty glare before something devious lights up in his eyes. “Trust me, we can be a lot worse.”

They can. As the sun slowly descends into the sky and evening rises, they play a couple of games by the stalls until they run out of pocket change and decide to go on the Ferris wheel before they head home even though Osamu knows Atsumu thinks it’s the most boring ride in history. Atsumu and Suna are a few groups ahead of them, and they practically stumble into their passenger car hurriedly.

Before Osamu can figure out what’s gotten them so restless, he sees Suna pounce on Atsumu and pin him to the ground just as the door closes. 

“Yer kiddin’ me,” Osamu says, except he’s not actually that surprised. Still, he wonders if he has enough time to bleach his brain, have it burnt off by the sun itself, and then use a pitchfork to yank it out of his body before he has to ride the Ferris wheel with his boyfriend just so the image of Suna on top of Atsumu in the dirty floor of a passenger car will go away. He’s already seen too much as it is. 

When it’s finally his and Akaashi’s turn to board the car, Akaashi says, “I think we should stop this.”

Osamu has heard that phrase only in rom-coms, but he isn't stupid enough to not know what that means. He freezes as the door to their car swings close. Seeing the look of alarm on his face, Akaashi quickly rushes out, “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that. We’re not breaking up. There’s nothing wrong. Don’t make that face. This is about Atsumu and Suna.”

“Oh.” Osamu’s posture instantly relaxes. “Fuck, Keiji, yer phrasin' is gonna kill me.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes. Osamu crosses the car to sit down next to Akaashi. He’s glancing outside, but when Osamu tries to follow his gaze, it’s not at the blackness of the sky or the way the amusement park comes to life with the lights and the people even though it’s late at night. Instead, it’s at the passenger car three cars away. It’s too dark for the figures to be made out, but Osamu knows that his brother and best friend are in there. “I don’t think we accomplished anything.”

“Nope,” Osamu agrees. He feels bone-tired, thinking about it. “I ended up signin’ myself up to see the very thing I was tryna get rid of.”

“Mhm.” Akaashi hums. Osamu rests his head on his boyfriend's shoulder. “But I don’t think we should’ve tried showing them how to be a ‘better’ couple.”

“Whaddya mean by that?”

“I think that we’ve greatly miscalculated,” Akaashi tells him. “They’re honestly fine, Atsumu and Suna.”

“What makes ya say that?”

“It’s—I don’t know. You can just tell from watching them,” he answers vaguely. “They’re different from the rest of us, but it doesn’t mean they don’t love each other. It just might be that they have a very... peculiar way of showing it.” 

“Through constantly tryna nail each other to every possible flat surface available?” Osamu deadpans. “I’ve never even seen ‘em hold hands before.”

“You don’t need to prove to others that you love someone.”

Akaashi has a point, but Osamu wants to insist that it’s still different, because it’s _Atsumu and Suna_ , except—

There's a certain memory that comes to mind before he can get the words out. It’s of Atsumu on an obnoxiously early morning, meticulously digging through a brownie mix without any of the ingredients mixed in during the early morning even though he was going to bake in the afternoon with the weed Suna had, taking out these tiny hard things with a spoon. Osamu was supposed to come tonight, once the brownies were done, but he was there because he left something behind and had to get it immediately. 

“The fuck are ya doin’?” asked Osamu. 

“I got a walnut mix ‘cause they ran outta plain ones,” Atsumu had answered. “And Sunarin hates nuts.” 

“Why don’t ya use a sifter?”

“We don’t got any.”

Osamu had no plans on offering his and Akaashi’s. He squinted at his brother when he made a particularly long yawn. “How long have ya been at this?”

“Dunno. Three hours? There’s so much of this shit. It’s annoyin’.” Atsumu paused. It was almost 4am. “I wonder if I can use ‘em as bullets for that toy gun I got last month.” 

Osamu remained quiet, looking at Atsumu strangely for a few more minutes. Eventually, Atsumu complained that his brother’s staring was ruining his concentration. Annoyed, Osamu left and hadn’t thought about that moment since. 

It’s nothing even close to something as simple as hand-holding, but looking back on it, it’s probably the only memory Osamu has of Atsumu ever being this thoughtful for someone other than himself. 

“Maybe,” Osamu says. 

It’s as much an admission as he’s willing to give, which Akaashi knows. Idly, he runs a hand through Osamu’s hair before wrapping his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder, pulling him closer to him. “I know you said you wanted Atsumu to have what you have, but he already does. It just isn’t the same as yours, and that’s fine, because you two are different people anyway.”

Osamu still holds onto his analogy that Atsumu and Suna’s kind of love is the type that thinks more about the ride than the aftermath of it. But maybe they’re riding on a rollercoaster that can stretch on forever. _They’re different,_ Akaashi said, and he’s right about everything and more. Osamu can’t say that he wants Atsumu to have the same love he has because they’re different people and they’re _with_ different people, and it doesn’t make the love any less. He’s stupid for considering the idea of changing that. 

“I still think usin’ every little thing as foreplay and always havin’ sex to show love is kinda twisted though,” Osamu inputs. 

“And I know that Atsumu and Suna would drive themselves insane thinking about the simple way we do things,” Akaashi replies. “Relationships aren’t a one-size-fits-all scenario.”

Osamu sighs. “I know.”

Akaashi hums and continues combing through Osamu’s hair. As the wheel places them at the top, Osamu stares up at him and watches, under the faint light that comes down from the park, the way the other’s eyelashes flutter with each blink, the natural shine on his lips from constantly licking them, the pensive look on his face. The car suddenly feels a lot more suffocating than before. Osamu taps his foot on the floor, testing. 

“Y'know,” he starts, slowly pulling away from Akaashi. “This car is surprisingly stable.”

“Uh-huh,” the other replies distractedly. After a few seconds, he says, “I know you don’t want to follow Atsumu and Suna as much as possible, but do you want—”

Osamu cuts him off by cupping his face and bringing him into a heated kiss. Immediately, Akaashi wraps his arms around him and presses back. 

(“I was wrong. Exhibitionism’s a much better look on ya than voyeurism,” Atsumu comments when Akaashi and Osamu disembark from the car, the both of them looking notably ruffled. 

“Shaddap.” Osamu wipes his mouth with his hand just in case there’s still a bit of saliva lingering there. “I blame you and Suna.”

Atsumu grins. “Hey, if my brother’s gettin’ laid ‘cause he was followin’ my wise example, then I ain’t complainin’. Aren’t I great?”

Suna elbows him. “Don’t hog in all the glory. It wasn’t like you were the one doing all the work.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me with how lazy ya are sometimes.”

“You weren’t complaining about that when I—”

“Let’s go before we get kicked out of the amusement park for being associated with them,” Osamu tells Akaashi. “There are kids around.”

Akaashi raises an eyebrow. “That’s not what you were thinking about when you made me put my hands on your ass earlier.”

“I ain’t sayin’ _anythin’_.”

“Hey, are ya just leavin us like that? ‘Samu, you pig, don’t do this to yer brother and best friend!” Atsumu yells indignantly. “Sunarin, hurry yer flat ass up.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Atsumu and Suna catching up to them. When Osamu’s gaze lowers, he can see that they’re holding hands.)

Scenario D:

None of the above. Atsumu and Suna are the kind of people you can’t change into becoming anyone else but themselves. 

**Author's Note:**

> formatting this was a nightmare rip
> 
>  ~~no osamu doesnt have a drinking problem hes just an avid alcohol fanatic~~
> 
> HUGE CREDS to kit and darcy ( ~~and the soju i found in my pantry~~ ) bc their tweets are what inspired me to create this mess. pls check our their fics and give them all the love and support (they’re great writers their fics make me cry ~~darcy posted an atsusuna fic before me so pls i hope you read hers THANK YOU~~ )
> 
> also guys pls dont trust a condom thats been kept in a guy’s wallet
> 
> thanks for reading! i'm here on [twt](https://twitter.com/inarizakicks), [tumblr](http://softpunks.tumblr.com/), and [cc](https://curiouscat.me/lightproof) if u wanna chat :>


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